How to Drown
by fulvenia
Summary: Post-Mockingjay. Katniss and Peeta are back home. Katniss has all but forgotten those who wished to be forgotten, including Gale, who hasn't spoken to her in nearly a year, becoming nothing but a bitter memory. But one day, Katniss is told of her best friend in Two, who has transformed into a monster who's willing to die for a chance to see the woman he loved since he was a child.
1. Chapter 1

"Katniss."

I don't look up when I hear his voice. Instead, I concentrate on taking this morning's game out of my father's old hunting bag, placing everything carefully on the counter of the kitchen.

Peeta sighs, and I hear the creak of wood as he leans against the doorframe. "You have to go see him."

"No, I don't," I say sharply. I slam the canvas of berries down harder than I realize, and I feel the juice seep out from the bag. I almost swear under my breath.

We both know what he's trying to do, and we both know it won't work. Peeta's been bugging me about this for ages, trying to convince me to do the right thing. Even though he knows well enough that I'm usually the one who ends up doing wrong.

But Peeta still tries to talk me into going to District 2 to see Gale.

It's been almost a year since I've last seen him. Gale, who used to be the only reason I smiled. Gale, who was my best friend when my life fell apart.

Gale, who completely cut off all contact with me when he left for 2 after the rebellion. The only letter he ever sent me was a week after he left, saying how his job was going well and he was doing fine and he met a lovely young woman named Savannah who works to cater those that work in the mountains.

Then, it just stopped. No letters, no surprise visits, not even a single word over the phone. It was as if he didn't exist to me anymore.

Peeta, of course, reads my mind. "It's busy in 2 now. They've been rebuilding inside dozens of mountains for months now."

It's true. When we destroyed the largest mountain 2 used for their masonry, the Nut, the district's been hasty in trying to restore their precious monument.

But it's still no excuse.

"He didn't even bother to _write _again."

"You can't just assume he hates you because of that, Katniss."

"Do you have any other explanation?"

"My explanation won't change your mind," he says as a matter-of-factly.

I take that as a forfeit and turned back to the counter. After a moment of silence, Peeta leaves the kitchen, and the subject isn't discussed again.

Until exactly a month later.

When I open the door that morning to hunt, I'm almost shocked to see someone standing at our doorstep. Partly because it's so early in the morning, and partly because people still prefer to keep their distance from us.

This certain someone is a petite, blond girl, who looks too perfectly manicured to be from Twelve. She has fair skin, a pointed nose, and wears baggy clothes despite her slim figure.

She has tears in her eyes.

While I stand nearly frozen by the door, the girl looks at me and whispers three horrifying words.

"I'm from Two."

I don't even think before I blurt out, "Gale?"

She nods, her breath hitching as she speaks. "I didn't th-think it would c-come to this, y-you know? A-and I didn't know w-what to d-do . . ." she breaks down in wordless sobs.

Immediately, I sense Peeta at my side. He speaks gently to the girl, inviting her inside and leading her to the living room, where she sinks into a plush white couch. All while I stand rigidly, staring at the girl, wanting some sort of answer.

I kneel in front of her while Peeta lean against the couch arm.

"Savannah?" I ask her.

She nods. "I'm . . . a friend of Gale's."

"What's happened to him? Is he alright? Is something wrong?"

"He told me once that if anything ever happened to him, I weren't to tell you," she explains. I don't interrupt her, though she completely ignored my question. "But I knew you were his closest friend, and I didn't know what else t-to do!" Her eyes begin to water again.

"What's happened to him, Savannah?" I ask more sharply.

She looks up at me, her eyes cowering in despair.

"I think he's sick, Katniss," she whispers.

There's a long silence before I speak, and in that moment, a million thoughts shoot through my head. I can hear my heart pounding in my chest.

"Sick?" I say softly.

"It started around the same time he came to Twelve," she explains. "I met him the day he first arrived, and he seemed . . . strange. He hardly spoke, he hardly said a word to anyone. He was always hidden in the background, no one noticing him."

I bite my lip. That _is_ strange behaviour for him. He was never like that at home.

She continues. "I was his friend, and I knew he liked to spend his free time in the mountains. I went to see him there one day, and found him crying. Not just the small kind of sobbing; he was screaming and howling and collapsing to the ground. He was completely out of control."

Something in my heart crumples and I lose the ability to speak, resulting at me staring at the poor girl with blank eyes.

"He quit his work in the mountains a couple weeks later and disappeared beyond the woods for days. No one could find him, and after the first three days, people stopped looking. I didn't know what happened to him; I looked in the same place where I found him crying before, but he wasn't there.

Then, after a week, he showed up. I was walking past his home when I noticed the lights were on. When I went inside, I saw him sitting in the corner of his room. He was just sitting on the floor, doing nothing. I tried to ask him questions about where he was and what he had done, but then all of a sudden he was screaming at me to get out. Pulling his hair and slamming his fists against the wall. I ran out of his house as fast as I could."

She begins to weep, covering her face with her hands. I reach out a hand and hold her wrist gently.

"It's going to be fine," I soothe. "It's okay."

She shakes her head and speaks, her voice muffled by her hands. "You don't understand, Katniss. He was going to do something before I caught him in his home."

"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice shaking with fright.

"When I came into his room," she whispers, sniffling. "He was holding a gun to his head."


	2. Chapter 2

In that moment, I lose all sense of compassion. My legs think for me, and soon enough I'm walking down the hall and up the stairs and stuffing clothes and fabrics and other insignificant things into a bag and then I'm down the stairs and almost out the front door and a voice in the back of my head congratulates me because I haven't broken down yet and I keep thinking about Gale and a gun and how he's almost never cried and how I have to see him and I have to see him right _now_—

Peeta grabs my hand and stops me.

"Katniss," he begins.

"I need to go to him," I say, my voice sounding oddly emotionless. "Peeta, I have to see him."

My voice shakes at the last word, but he doesn't notice. Then his arms are around me and I hide my face in his shoulder, fighting back tears.

"How do I know he's even alive right now?" I whisper into his shirt, horrified.

He hushes me, but doesn't say a word. He's probably thinking the exact same thing.

After a long, quiet moment, he speaks quietly into my hair.

"Go on. Get to the first train you see. I'll tell Haymitch tonight."

"And Savannah?"

I know we're thinking the same thing. That although the young woman means entirely well, she is too much of an emotional wreck for us to go together.

"I'll tell her to take the next train," Peeta suggests, and I agree. I kiss him, and we hold each other for a moment longer, and then I pull away.

"I'll see you soon," I tell him. He smiles sadly as I head out the door.

Luckily, the train station in Twelve has been upgraded to high-speed after the rebellion, so I quickly find one that stops at Two before nightfall and practically jumps onto it.

As I sink into a seat and watch the scenery of Twelve fly by my window, one very prominent thought keeps running through my mind.

_He could already be dead._

The idea that Gale would try to hurt himself in anyway horrifies me to the point that I have to take deep breaths to get rid of the black spots in my eyes. The very thought _shakes_ me to my core and I feel a painful longing to be near him; a feeling I haven't felt for months.

To put it in simple terms, that train ride was the most terrifying one in my life. Not even my trip to the Capitol for my first Games could match up to this.

When the conductor of the train announces our arrival into Two, my eyes dart to the window, and the first thing I see is a massive mountain range. It's about three hundred feet away from the train, and hundreds of mountains seem to tower over my measly little person inside the train. They look like misshapen triangles, ten billion times bigger and snow-topped. Colors range from dark gray to brown.

The train is going at high-speed, but the mountains keep appearing as we hurtle by. After about thirty minutes of this, we arrive at the train station at Two. When I step off, I immediately notice all eyes staring at me.

It seems they still haven't forgotten the face of the mad young girl who got shot in front of the entire country of Panem right here in Two.

Some people in the station are still fashioning my mockingjay on their clothes, I observe. Everyone in Twelve abandoned the symbol because it brought too much pain, because of the destruction of Twelve during the war.

But they still avoid me, and I hurry along. I'm almost out of the station before I realize.

I have no idea where Gale lives.

I decide the best thing to do is to go back and ask someone of authority. I see a middle-aged man in a red uniform wearing a badge, so I walk up to him. He glances at me strangely, as if wondering whether to squeal with excitement or run from nervousness.

"Good morning, ma'am," he says uncertainly, tipping his hat at my approach.

I nod hello. "I'm looking for a friend of mine who lives in Two. Do you know where I can find the Hawthorne residence?" I ask as professionally as possible.

His eyes sadden, as if he was expecting that question from me. He probably was, I think.

"There's a town built right next to this station. He lives on the far side of it, near the mountains and woods. It's the only one with red brick."

I thank him and head for the exit. As my hand is on the doorknob, he calls out to me.

"Miss Everdeen?"

I turn my head, impatient but as politely as I can afford. "Yes?"

"Give Mister Hawthorne my best."

Translation: let me know if he's dead.

I smile and nod, assuring him I will. Then I'm hurrying out the doors. Immediately, my eyes spot a row of buildings to my right. They look much like the richer part of the Seam at home.

Although Two is a wealthy district, there still has to be a place for the workers. And this looks it.

I start walking quickly, ignoring the strange glances in my direction. I walk and walk and soon enough the houses begin to diminish until I am standing in front of a large, red brick house.

I walk up to the wooden door and turned the knob. I knew knocking wouldn't bring him to the door at all. Once inside, the first thing I notice is the broken pieces of glass on the floor and a sickly sweet odor in the air.

It's familiar. I used to smell it every day after my first Hunger Games, the moment I stepped into Haymitch's house.

Gale's been drinking. And by the look of it, a lot.

Other than that, his living conditions seem fairly civil.

And then I climb the large staircase upstairs to the bedrooms. On the last step on the landing, a large floor flower pot has been thrown to the ground, sending brown ceramic shards and dirt across the entire perimeter of the hallway. Sheets from a couch are draping across the railing. There's more glass, and puddles of alcohol.

Nevertheless, I walk up the wooden staircase and turn to the first open door I see. Inside is a well made bed, a bookshelf, and a small desk.

On the bed sits Gale.

I don't call out his name. I don't move at all. Instead, I say,

"Do you still hunt?"

I see his reaction from behind. His entire body goes rigid, but he doesn't get up. He doesn't even move at all.

"Not much game left."

My heart almost breaks at the sound of his voice. It's changed; changed so horrifically that I wonder if this man is even Gale at all.

But there's something else there. Maybe the mocking humor, maybe the gentleness he always used before catching game.

"So you searched the entire district for animals in a matter of three days?" I ask. I have to fight from breaking down into screams, demanding what happened, demanding who my best friend had become.

He doesn't answer, but I see his head tilt up and he takes a swig from a glass bottle full of clear liquid.

I can't tolerate it anymore. I stalk over to the other side of the bed and yank the bottle out of his hand. He grabs back, but I shove his arm away and smash the bottle onto the ground. He growls, jumping onto his feet.

"_What the hell do you want_?" He bellows.

And I see his face for the first time. His eyes are red; he hasn't slept for days. He's clean shaven, but there's cuts and scrapes all over his face. I look down at his hands and find them shaking.

"Gale," I whisper, reaching a hand up to touch his face. My hands cover to scrapes on his cheek.

Tears appear in his eyes. He closes them and reaches for me. Then, like he realizes what he's doing, his arms drop limply to his sides.

"I'm sorry, Catnip," he mumbles.

I don't drop my hand. "What happened to you?"

He shakes his head and opens his eyes. "I don't know." He reaches up and presses my hand against his cheek.

"You're here," he breathes. He curls our hands together.

The pain in my chest blooms. I can't bear to watch him a second longer. He's suffering, suffering like I've never seen anyone suffer before.

And by the sound of his last two words, my presence has healed him somehow. I can see the desperate relief in his face, as if he has finally managed to find air in an endless expanse of water.

I won't let this happen to him. Not when there's a way I can make it stop. I refuse to see his eyes weak and hopeless, even after the few seconds I gazed into them.

He _needs_ me.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close, burying my face in his shoulder. His arms were limp, but then he's holding me; holding _onto_ me.

"I'm here," I say.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: These are actually three mini chapters that I pulled together into one, and they're probably pretty short but expect many more chapters to come!**

* * *

I don't know how long we stand holding each other, feeling our heartbeats, knowing there's nothing that can break us apart. When he does pull away, his eyes burn into mine. "Why did you come for me?"

My arms are still draped around his neck and I make no move to lift them. "Savannah . . . she came all the way from Two. She was afraid."

"They're all afraid of me."

"Why?" My forehead crumples in frustration. "What happened to you when you left?"

Suddenly, a recognition of something flashes through his eyes. He rips his gaze away from me and takes a step back, letting my arms fall to my sides. "Nothing happened."

I stand there, frozen in shock at his change in behavior. He watches me with a guarded expression.

"You're drinking," I observe.

"Could be worse."

"Not for you."

"Not for the boy who lived in Twelve and hunted with his best friend," he shoots back.

"Well, if you see him, tell him to come back."

"Rather not," he snaps, clenching and unclenching his fists.

I stand silently for a moment, angered by what he was saying. "I came here," I start, grinding my teeth, "all the way from Twelve, because I thought you were dead."

He won't look at me in the eye. It keeps shocking me, how much he has transformed into a completely different person. Gale would look me in the eye and spit out what was on his mind. The person in front of me is only hiding himself like a coward.

"You had no reason to," he says.

"You don't mean that."

He doesn't say a word.

I swallow my screams and shove past him, heading for the door. I've had enough of this.

Seconds after I pass him, he grabs my hand and pulls me back. I start to protest but then his hands are cradling my face and he presses his lips against mine.

I am frozen, but seconds after it settles in, I bring up my arms and shove him away from me. He stumbles against the frame of the bed but regains his balance.

"That's why, isn't it?" I say icily. "That's what happened."

He says nothing.

I step over the broken bottles and make my way to the threshold, where I stop and look back at him. He's still standing, and when he turns around to see me, we watch each other for a moment longer before I rip my gaze away and hurry out the door.

* * *

I may not know my way around this small town, but I do remember where the woods were, and that's where I was heading. Gale knew what he was doing when he chose to live here; the trees start less than a mile from his home.

I have no bow with me, but I'm hoping Gale has them stashed under a rotting log. For old time's sake.

The woods here are much different, I realize as soon as I near a fairly large expanse of greenery dotted with reds and yellows. This is flatland; Twelve's woods were carressed with soft rolling hills and plateaus.

The sounds are different, too. The Meadow was always filled with the voices of mockingjays, buzzing of insects, the occasional growl from a nearby bear. The forest here was so silent, it nearly deafened me. I was itching to turn around, but I had nowhere else to go.

Gale was right about one thing: it would be nearly impossible to find even a meak squirrel anywhere here.

But still, I push on, stepping over brush and fallen nuts. I recognize a log big enough to hold hunting equipment as soon as I see it; turned over and split open. I approach it, hoping for a bow and arrows more than a snare.

But I find neither. Inside the rotting wood lays a pile of ashes, left behind from some sort of paper. Most of its been burnt to a crisp, but I manage to scrape up a small piece of crumpled paper. I stare at it, unsure of the strange drawings and numbers.

Then it hits me, so suddenly that my breath freezes in my lungs.

These are bomb designs.

I dig through anything else I can find in the ashes, but it's all elligible. In frustration, I crumple the design and throw it as far away from me as possible. Then, I surprise myself by falling to my knees and bursting into angry sobs.

I haven't cried like this in so long; months and months ago. It seems like it all came flooding back, everything from the heartache of missing Gale to the horrific encounter to this.

My sobs turn into breathless wails. I thought I was ready for this; I thought I was strong enough to think of her and not breakdown. I suppose I'm just an absolute weakling at heart.

Then I'm thinking of Gale, and something inside me fills with regret. I yearn for him, so strongly that I have to dig my fingers in the dirt to stop from screaming out his name.

Suddenly, almost as if he read my mind, I feel two arms around me, cradling me and pulling me to him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . ." He says over and over again, rocking me back and forth. I clutch for him, desperate for his prescence.

And then we're both weeping, and I think of Prim, my sister Prim who will stay a child forever, and I think of Peeta, who's tired and worried and waiting for me to come home.

Finally I think of Gale, and how I shouldn't dare to even think such things, but I know and I will always know that I am truly and utterly in love with him, and I will love him until the day I die.


	4. Chapter 4

**Someone asked if this is one of those fics in which Katniss stays with Peeta and manages to regain her friendship with Gale. As you can probably tell from the end of the third chapter and in this chapter, this fic is a romance between Gale and Katniss.**

**On a side note, I really appreciate all the comments you guys have been saying! It's a huge encouragement. I'd also love to hear some feedback on my writing style, and how I could be able to improve it, so if you have time, leave a review! Enjoy :)**

When I open my eyes, I realize that I'm staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling, lying on an unfamiliar bed. I stretched out a hand, instinctively reaching for Peeta.

"Morning, Catnip."

I nearly jump out my skin and my eyes dart around the room. Gale leans against his small desk by the wall, his lips curled in a sad smile.

The events of the previous day flood in, and I sit up abruptly.

"Where-"

"You fell asleep," he explains. "I carried you back."

I look down, feeling my face flush. I was sure I overeacted with all of my tears yeserday. It was practical to have moved along after a year.

_But some things just stick with you no matter what_, I think, looking up at Gale. I smile weakly at him, and he returns it halfIheartedly.

"Listen," he says, walking over to the bedside and sitting down in front of me. "I drank a lot yesterday. I was all but drunk when you came."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me."

He shakes his head. "I did things I shouldn't have done."

I begin to argue, but he cuts me off.

"Let's go."

"Where?"

"Hunting."

I smile, thinking of how I always met Gale in the early mornings of Twelve. Then my mind wanders to the pile of ashes in the log.

Gale must've seen the recognition, because the smile disappears from his eyes.

"Let's go to the town market," he suggests.

I shake my head. "Do you have a bow?"

"Of course."

"Then we'll go hunting."

He watches me skeptically, and I stare back at him. Finally he sighs.

"I could do for a couple birds."

His bow is well made, and although there aren't many animals to be seen, I do manage to shoot three birds. A bush nearby is dotted with berries, and Gale picks them clean while I gut and clean the meat. When the sun is well out in the sky, we decid to call it a day. Gale takes us to a small pond with purple lillies and I strip off my boots, sinking my feet in the cool, silky water.

I sigh, falling back on a bed of grass. Gale sits on a flat, gray rock, throwing the berries up in the air and catching them in his mouth.

"Seems just like it was, don't you think?" I ask, looking up at the tall tree leaves sheltering us from the sun.

"Things were different then. A lot different."

"But this feels the same. Hunting."

"For food, back when we could barely scrape by," he replies.

It's quiet for a long time. I look over at Gale, seeing the scrapes on his cheeks and a familiar mockery in his eyes. They dart to mine, and we watch each other without realizing how long we had been doing it, and I break the silence with a whisper.

"You didn't kill her, Gale."

He doesn't move, but something in his eyes tells me he knew what I was going to say.

"Her blood will always be on my hands, no matter what anyone says."

"Coin was the one who sent her to the front lines. Coin, not you."

"It was my plan."

"And what if it was, Gale? If it weren't for Coin, those plans would have been thrown away, never seen again."

He stands up to put down the second bag of berries. "It won't matter what you say, Katniss. I know it, everyone knows it. I killed Prim."

I get up and walk over to him.

"Look at me."

"Katniss, stop."

I take his face in my hands and tilt it up so he's looking right at me. "Tell me the truth."

"That _is_ the truth."

"_Tell_ me, Gale."

He paused, then sighed. His eyes glanced up at mine in defeat. "Maybe if I believed it was me, I could keep you away."

My heart skipped an unpleasent beat. "Why would you want to keep me away from you?"

He doesn't speak, but tries to pull away. I grab desperately for him.

"_Please_."

He looks at me again, and his whole face just crumbles in pain.

"Because I love you," he tells me. "I love you more than I've loved anyone else in my life, that's why."

The whole world disappears around us. I try to look away but our eyes are locked and I know there's no escaping this. Gale takes my hands away from his face and holds them gently.

"Maybe I did kill her. But I couldn't live the rest of my life with you and Peeta together, so I pushed you away." He intertwines our fingers, not moving his gaze away. "And then I realized I couldn't live the rest of my life without you, period."

He pauses, closing his eyes. "I missed you so much, Catnip."

I don't say a word. I don't _want_ to say a word. I want to say things that would bring him back; bring the snarky, mocking-eyed hunting boy back. He wasn't gone yet, but I could see the fight fade away from his eyes. He was losing himself; if I hadn't arrived when I did he would already be lost.

"I don't want you to be here because you pity me," he says. "The only reason I want you with to be with me is the same reason why you shouldn't."

This is it, I think. I have to choose between Peeta, the boy who saved my life so many times, and Gale, whose life I may just save by making a simple choice.

And what horrifies me the most is that _I don't know_.


	5. Chapter 5

**A longer chapter for the lovely guest who requested it! Thank you for all the reviews, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

I don't say what he wants to hear. In fact, I just stand motionless, frozen.

Later, I'd realize it was the biggest mistake I ever made.

Gale searches my eyes for any sort of response, but he doesn't get it. His lips curl into a sad smile, and he shrugs my hands away.

"It's better this way," he tells me, reaching for the bags of berries. "Let's head back."

Then I'm watching him leave, his back to me and his head held high. I know it's hurting him. I know he wants to pull his hair out and scream and weep and slam his head against a wall.

But he can't, because he would never let me see him that way.

I start moving mechanically, shoving the meat into a canvas bag and throwing my shoulder. I follow Gale out of the woods and to the house. Once we're inside, I drop the bag on the kitchen counter.

"Are you heading home soon?" Gale asks. I turn around and see him taking off his hunting jacket and hang it over the door.

I hadn't even thought about that. I certainly spent more time than I expected to here, and why not admit it? I thought I'd be coming to identify a corpse.

"Soon," I say after a moment.

"There's nothing else for you to do here."

I cross my arms over my chest. "I haven't seen you in almost a year, Gale."

"Look, I appreciate it—"

"You _appreciate_ it?" I interrupt him. "We fought a _war_ together. We watched the people we love die together. And after all of that, you want me to just walk out and leave?"

"That's not what I'm saying." The expression on his face tells me he doesn't want to continue the conversation. Instead, he reaches inside a cupboard and pulls out a bottle of wine. "I need a drink."

I grind my teeth and stride over to him, grabbing the bottle out of his hand.

"You are _not_ ruining your life over a glass bottle," I hiss at him.

He sighs, as if he's too tired to argue, and turns away, heading upstairs. Before he leaves, he pauses at the doorway, his back to me.

"Who says it isn't already ruined, Katniss?" he asks, and walks away.

* * *

I don't know what he's doing upstairs, and I decide not to disturb him; he's probably had enough of me today. Instead, I wander around his house, aimlessly searching for things that were familiar to me back in Twelve.

I don't find much; everything that used to be in his possession had been replaced with a more modernized style.

Perks of living in a wealthy district, I suppose.

In the living room, I find a fireplace with a large mantel. There's a small vase on it, and I recognize the plants in it immediately.

A primrose and a katniss root.

I think of my father, who once told me that if I could find myself, I would never starve. And I think of Peeta, who planted my sister's flowers surrounding our house when I was a mess.

These flowers had been cared for. They had bloomed and grown to almost more than a foot long. I reach out and touch the petals of the rose, remembering how I showed them to Prim once in the woods, but she was so frightened of the animals around her that she didn't notice.

I don't know whether to scream or smile.

I turn away, hoping to distract myself with something else. I see a small desk in the corner of the room with a mess of paper on it. Looking closely, I see they're written in Gale's writing.

I'm too exhausted to even process the ethics of looking into another person's private possessions. And anyway, Gale and I know each too well. He won't mind.

I reach for a crumpled piece of paper on the top of the pile. The first thing I see is the date.

He wrote this half a year ago.

I start scanning the contents of the sheet, my heart sinking lower and lower as I neared the end.

_Catnip,_

_ I'm not going to send them. One was enough for you to think I'm alive and well and have moved on._

_ But that's the thing. Murderers don't move on, Katniss. After your time in the arena, you should know that._

_ I'm a coward for thinking the things I do. But I truly know that there's nothing left for me to live for. Nothing but you, and I can't have that. I refuse to._

_ The Games are over, Katniss, but I haven't forgotten them, and neither have you. I guess even though Snow's dead, he's still managing to torment everyone that went against him._

_ You deserve him, you know. I know you can't survive without him. I can see that now._

_ But that won't change the fact that I love you, I've loved you since that day in the Hob, and I will love you for the rest of forever._

_ I'm sorry, Katniss._

I crumple the paper and squeeze it in my hand without thinking. Gale's upstairs right now, probably thinking the same things he thought when he wrote the letter. He's thinking them because of _me_.

"Katniss."

I whirl around, almost dropping the balled up paper in shock. Gale stands by the threshold, leaning against the wall. He sees me standing by his desk, looking about as guilty as you can get, and smiles.

"It's late. You should go to bed."

"I'll take the couch," I offer.

"Do you seriously think I'll let you spend the night on that worn out thing?" he shakes his head sardonically. "How amusing."

"Do you see me laughing?"

"Doesn't matter. I sure am."

I clench my fists, but agree. "If you fall off the couch and break an arm, I'm going to ignore it."

"Always a pleasure to spend a day with you, too."

I made my way up the stairs, smiling. I didn't realize it until I was in his room that it was because that was the first normal conversation we had in a long time.

Once I'm upstairs, I strip out of my dirty clothes and search his closet for something small enough to wear. I find a button up shirt and pants he'd probably outgrown years ago, and pull them on. They smell of him, and I instinctively breathe in his scent before stopping almost abruptly.

Then I hear his footsteps up the stairs, and I turn around. He walks into the room and stops when he sees me.

"Are those the pants I got when I was sixteen?" he asks, wrinkling his nose.

"And I was wondering why you've kept them for so long."

"Hazelle made them," he replies.

I catch a guarded look in his eyes before he turns to the closet and pulls out a t-shirt and trousers.

"I'll see you in the morning, Catnip," he says, and heads for the door.

When I see his back to me, walking away, that's when I just _snap_.

I need him here. Right now.

"Wait."

He turns around, his eyes questioning.

"Sleep with me," I blurt out, and immediately see the confusion spread across his face.

"Katniss, no."

"Just sleep, okay? Nothing else."

He looks pain-stricken, but not because he doesn't want to. He wants to, I can see it. But he can't.

I don't know how to tell him that all I want is his closeness. I just want to sleep with him next to me, in the most purest way. Just to be aware of him while my eyes are closed, and nothing else.

The intensity of the feeling hits me like a brick wall, the feeling that I _crave_ for his presence.

I don't have to tell him. He sees it on my face.

And then he drapes the clothes over his desk and crosses the room to the other side of the bed, slipping under the covers. I do the same, and then we're both curled on our sides, facing each other, and he watches me almost curiously.

"What?" I ask quietly.

I see a faint smile on his lips. "You aren't even tired."

"I'm exhausted."

It's quiet for a moment, and he speaks up again.

"I'm glad we hunted again, Catnip."

"You don't know how much I missed it."

"I think I can guess."

I smile. "I really did miss you, Gale. So much."

And we lapse into silence once more. I see his hand, lying flat between us, and without thinking, I reach for it. It's rough but warm, and when I tangle my fingers in his, I feel the warmth spread through me. It felt settling to just lay still and hold his hand, not moving a muscle.

I look up at him. He had stopped smiling, but I see a flash of something calm and at peace in his green eyes.

I'm still looking at him as my eyelids droop, and suddenly my mind is wandering, and I'm thinking about his letter still crumpled in my other hand. The one that said he was a murderer and

_ Murderers don't move on, Katniss_

_ You deserve him, you know_

_ Nothing to live for_

_ And I can't have you_

_ I'm sorry, Katniss_

_ A primrose in a pretty little vase_

_ Then I'm looking at her, wearing the gray jumpsuit made for medics, helping a child who has already burned to death_

_ We're using the same rulebook Snow used_

_ Wait for the second wave_

_ Prim steps off the hovership_

_ It was Gale's idea, Beetee says_

_ They're primroses, for her_

_ SHE'S DEAD YOU STUPID CAT SHE'S DEAD SHE'S DEAD SHE'S NEVER COMING BACK SHE'S DEAD_

_ I'm sorry Katniss_

_ Prim turns around and her lips are just forming my name when_

_ I can't have you I can't have you I'm sorry Katniss oh god I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm-_

****_PRIM!_

"Katniss!"

I'm screaming, thrashing my arms and howling.

"Prim! _Prim_!"

"Katniss, wake up!"

Two arms hold me back, pinning me to the bed. It only makes makes me scream louder.

But Prim is calling out to me she's saying my name she's calling out my name and then there's fire and she's gone she's dead and gone and

_It was Gale's idea, Beetee said_

I'm convulsing, doing everything to squirm out of his grasp.

"_Prim_!"

"Katniss, please, please, please look at me. It's me, Katniss, look at me!"

I cry out, pushing myself away, but he's too strong.

"Don't touch me!" I shriek. "Get away from me!"

"_No_."

"You killed her!" I sob. "You _killed_ her!"

I give him one final shove, but he's already gotten away. Through my tears, I see him standing in shock, a horrifically empty look on his face.

"Leave me alone," I whimper, curling into a tiny ball in the tangled sheets. I bury my face in the pillows, my breath barely making it through my weeping. "Get away."

I hear footsteps fading away and I'm alone, clutching at my stomach, screaming viscious things to the air and thinking of Prim, my beautiful Prim who was going to be a doctor and grow old and live her life but she's dead she was murdered and it was my best friend who did it he was my best friend and I loved him but she's dead and gone she's dead and she's gone forever and

I've never felt so alone in my life.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed it! If you have any comments or questions or anything that can help me improve my work, leave a review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Note: As you may have already noticed, I changed the category and rating for this fic, as it is an in-progress piece of work and I'm practically improvising as I go along, so just a note there! Anyway, thank you again for the reviews, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

Weeks after I came back to Twelve following the end of the rebellion, my appointments with Dr. Aurelius had gradually renewed. He called twice a week, starting with a "Hi, hello, how are you doing, Katniss?", and ending with "It's important you stick to your medication everyday, Katniss".

I didn't pay much attention to the middle. Maybe because it largely consisted of the words "worried" and "mental health".

I took my medication regularly enough to muffle the screams and breakdowns I encountered every night, morning, and evening. But that didn't mean they stopped together; they were just toned down for a while.

When Peeta came back, he became my medication. But even though they didn't happen as often, the nightmares I would wake from would be worse than the ones before. He didn't leave my side when they occured, but sometimes I screamed so inhumanely at him to leave me alone, he would do as I said. Because if he didn't, I would've turned into a complete monster.

As the months passed, the nightmares slowly faded away. There were times when I would be perfectly normal for weeks, and the next night I would wake up howling.

They never went away. They still haven't.

I lay curled up in the bed for hours. This time, there aren't any stray pills by the bedside to just reach over and grab. I have to grind my teeth and escape the glazed, hysteric place in my mind all by myself.

By the time I'm finally able to open my eyes and breathe without shaking, it's midday.

I look around me. The last I remember, I was twisted in the sheets on the corner of the large bed. I sit up, blanketed in a neatly made bed, my head rested against a large pillow.

That's when I realize how intensely my head us throbbing. I bring up two hands to block it away, but it just gets worse.

Headaches were normal, too. With the medication, they lasted for hours. Without it, days.

I groan and try to squirm into a less painful position, but my muscles are stiff and I soon give up, my fingers skimming the silky sheets of Gale's bed.

_Gale._

My entire body freezes and it takes me a moment to try and remember what had happened, what I had said to Gale.

And when I do, the blood runs cold under my skin.

The entire house is silent; no footsteps, no muffled voices, no sound of anything moving. That's when I start to panic, yanking the sheets away and swinging myself off the bed. Once I'm on my feet, my head starts spinning again, but I make no move to settle it down.

"Gale," I cry out, but all that escapes my lips is a weak, hoarse whisper. "Gale!"

Still no answer. I stumble down the stairs, scanning the living room. When I don't find him anywhere in the house, my breath starts to hitch.

Every single thing he said and did right after the nightmare runs through my mind. Could I tell where he was going, by the sound of his footsteps? Did I hear a door slam shut while I tangled in the sweaty sheets?

I hurry to the front door, ignoring when the icy gusts of the October winds stung my uncovered skin. My first thought is to search the woods, and that's where I go, limping but keeping a steady pace. My eyes dart left and right, recalling what route we took the other day to get to the hunting grounds.

The ground inside the woods is rough and ice cold, scraping the bottom of my feet – I had no time to wear anything other than the clothes I slept in.

I could be too late.

I call out his name again; no response. My heart is pounding so hard I think it's going to explode, and blood rushes to my head, mounting the unbearable headache.

I'm starting to scream, and my raw throat from the nightmare just makes it worse. I trip over branches and twigs and rocks and run as fast as I can, looking everywhere at once.

_Please please please please please please . . ._

The same word runs over my mind again and again, begging and pleading that he's okay, he's alive, and he hasn't left me yet.

_Please please please oh please please . . ._

"_Gale_!"

It's no use. He isn't here.

_Please._

I decide to head back, calling his name out as I run. I've all but ignored the numbing in my feet; I'd pay for it soon enough. My first priority is to find him.

Once I'm out of the woods, I stumble to the front of the house and smack right into a dark figure.

If it weren't for my gradual recovery from the night before, I would've been able to regain my balance smoothly. But since my mind is clouded and I can feel the entire contents of my stomach in my throat, I fall to my knees.

"Catnip."

I look up, and my heart nearly explodes. Gale stands over me, his face undreadable in the icy winter winds, but he wraps his arms around me and he pulls me to my feet.

I'm so shocked and surprised that I'm unable to form any words, and instead I hang limply in his arms, staring up at him and murmuring his name again and again.

His face is pale from the cold; he hasn't worn anything warm either. It feels like I'm not the only one holding onto him; we're both clinging on to one another, breathing in our shaken breaths, hearing our pounding hearts and telling ourselves _we're okay_.

He picks me up in both arms, and I hide my face in his chest, my nails all but digging into his skin.

_Gale, Gale, Gale, Gale . . ._

As he carries us home, I feel his heartbeat beneath the thin gray shirt, and it only makes me hold onto him tighter, determined not to ever let go.

Once we're inside, the heat of the house washes over me and makes me shiver even more violently. Gale notices, and his whole body stiffens.

I look up. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and he's watching me with a guarded, worrisome look.

I hold in my breath. "No, no," I reassure him. "It's the cold."

He nods, but the tightness in his expression doesn't disappear. I start to worry when I realize he hasn't said anything but my name, back in the woods.

He leads me to the couch and gently places me on top of the cushioned seats. Gale stops for a moment, bent on one knee. I watch him, questioning, and my face flushes when I realize I'm still gripping onto him. I let go instantly.

"Sorry," I murmur, my headache pounding in sync with every syllable I say.

He manages a weak smile that doesn't reach anywhere near his eyes. "I went to the black market and traded some wool for these," he explains, reaching into his pocket and revealing a handful of tiny white pills. "They help with the pain."

He reaches over me to a table by the couch, where a glass of water waits.

"Here, sit up." He slips an arm under me and helps me up, handing me a couple pills and the water.

Once I down the painkillers, the hydration from the water helps clear some of the cloudiness in my head. I return his small smile, undoubtedly worrying.

"What were you thinking, Catnip?" He asks softly.

"You weren't here when I woke up," I croak. "I panicked."

"You had no reason to," he soothes, reaching to smooth a lock of hair away from my face. "There's no need for you to worry about me."

I want to tell him there are so many reasons why I need to worry about him, but I swallow my words and nod.

He sighs, preparing himself. "You have to go home."

A part of me was expecting this, but I still dig my nails into my palms. "I can handle the nightmares, I just didn't have the pills when I needed them."

"That's not the point, and you know it."

"You won't be doing me any good by telling me to leave, either."

"And what about me?"

I stare blankly, unsure of what he's saying.

"I _want_ you to go back to Peeta, Catnip. We've had our fun," he says bitterly.

"_Fun_?" I repeat, shocked. I recall all the screaming I've done in the past few days and glare at him incredously.

"You won't be doing me any good by staying," he snaps, raising his voice.

"That's not what you said to me before you tried to kiss me."

"But I'm saying it now, after you woke up screaming and there was nothing I could do."

"There's nothing you _can_ do!"

"That's exactly why you have to leave, and you have to leave _today_. Do you understand me?"

I reach for his hand, completley resorted to pleaing, but he yanks it away before I can touch him. His eyes are desperate and guarded when I try to meet them.

"I didn't mean the things I said," I tell him.

"You dreamt them. They were true."

"Don't say it like that," I beg.

"It's how it is."

I don't bother arguing with him; he won't budge.

"So you're going to force me to leave?"

"Do you want me to beg? I'm already down on my knees."

I hold back a snarky retort. I know what he's trying to do, and it won't work. It's something I've seen him do so many times back in the Hob when bargaining for more money or fruit. To all the older male traders, he would tick them off and drive them over the edge until they caved in. Greasy Sae didn't buy it; that's why he would turn on the flirting charm. But he was almost famous for the way he pulled people to his agreement.

But not me. I knew him better than I knew myself. I was completely immune to it.

Then again, he never begged me before.

"I don't want to leave," I say quietly.

He sighs exasperately. "Peeta's waiting for you."

"I don't want to leave yet," I repeat.

"Godammit, Katniss!" He shouts. "I'm not going to sit here and listen to your excuses!"

"Then tolerate them like everyone else!"

He groans and jumps onto his feet. I crane my neck to lift up my gaze at him.

"I don't _want_ you here," he hisses through gritted teeth. "Don't you understand that?"

I try to keep a straight face, but even I can feel the frown deepen on my face. "No," I mutter. "I don't."

Gale pauses for a moment, and then leans down, his hands resting on the back of the couch on either side of me.

"Tonight, you're going to pack your things and you're going to leave," he murmurs under his breath. "And you _won't_ come back."

I don't meet his gaze. Instead, I do the worst possible thing anyone could do in this situation.

I lean forward and press my lips against his.

I can feel the unexpected shock freezing his entire body, but I press on, clasping my hands on either side of his face and pulling him to me.

It's not the first time Gale and I kissed. But it feels unfamiliar, and although a giant part of me is screaming at myself for doing what I'm doing, there's a tinier part that awakens a buried hunger inside me, which seems to rise only to the feel of Gale's smooth, bronzed skin against mine.

It's not until he breaks off the kiss that I realize there are tears rolling down my cheeks.

He shakes his head, his gray eyes gripping onto mine in the worst way.

"Stop it, Catnip," he whispers, and this time, it does sound like he's begging. "Just stop it."

But even then, he brings up a hand to wipe the cold, dead tears away with his fingers.

* * *

At sunset that day, I stand on the landing of the living room, showered and changed back into the clothes I came in. Gale's standing in the kitchen, waiting for me to come downstairs.

I peek through the kitchen doorway and see him with his hands gripping onto the ledge of the counter, his head hung low.

"For the record," I start, and see his shoulders stiffen at my prescence - which I don't buy for a second; a man who's hunted alongside me for years has practically memorized the sound of my footsteps.

"I don't believe the 'not wanting me to stay' crap for a single second."

"For the record," he mocks, turning around. "It doesn't really matter whether you believe it or not."

Time passes too quickly as we stand still, our eyes unable to be ripped away from one another. The sound in the fancy little kitchen is the same sound I heard in the woods behind his house - deafeningly silent.

Silence had always been the truest form of speaking for us, where we would just be still and aware of each other's presence. Even though there weren't any words to be shared, our simple existence was enough to speak for ourselves.

This silence is different. There's something missing from it.

_He_ is missing from it.

The terrifying thought that he may have already given up suffocates me, and I struggle force it out of my head. He was stronger than that. He was the strongest out of anyone.

Nevertheless, his light eyes stared emptily into mine, until I have no choice but to look away. I turn to the front door, and when my hand rests on the doorknob, his voice reaches me from behind.

"Goodbye, Catnip."

I pause, debating whether I should just turn around and forget this entire thing. But then I'm yanking the door open, sending a chilly gust of wind towards me.

"Goodbye, Gale."

I step out into the winter, shutting the door behind me.

My second biggest mistake.


	7. Chapter 7

**Note: This short chapter is divided into three parts: the first in Gale's perspective, then Katniss', and then back to Gale's. I thought it would be interesting to capture their thoughts like this, but I'm still a little iffy about it. This is also my first time writing in Gale's point of view, and I'm not entirely sure I've done his part justice - which is why I would especially love some feedback about his POV in this chapter, so if you have any comments, please leave a review!**

**Thank you for all the follows, favorites, and reviews. You're all awesome.**

* * *

**_Gale_**

* * *

It _is_ better this way. If she had stayed any longer, all she'd meet was pain; the one thing I promised myself I would never let her see.

_All_ of this was for the best, wasn't it? The rebellion, the war, the demise? All the lives that were severed had been sacrificed for a better future, a better world.

It was still a sick price to pay.

But I had to remind myself that over and over again, as I stood by the front door, her words echoing across the walls of the empty house.

_I don't want to leave._

She had to. I don't know what I would've done if she hadn't.

When my legs start going numb, I head to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of wine from the cabinet. I might as well waste the day; there won't be much to do.

After the first scalding gulp, some sort of uncalled rage floods through me and suddenly I smash the entire bottle against the wall, watching the shards crash to the ground.

I don't know how long I stand there. It's only when I feel a stinging pain in my hand that I snap out of a daydream and notice a red gash covering the length of my palm. Swearing under my breath, I move mechanically to clean and cover the wound.

The irony almost makes me chuckle.

I walk past the broken glass, heading for the living room before going upstairs.

The couch is just how it was this afternoon, draped with the sheets I blanketed over Katniss after she nearly froze in the woods.

_She said she was worried._

_She_ was worried? About _me_?

After what she went through the night before, the screaming and the horrible nightmares, she still put me before her. She was still the selfless girl who put everyone she care for before her.

Did she really care for me? After what I've done to her?

After what I've done to Prim?

I am a murderer in her eyes. A murderer, but still the same boy she hunted alongside in the forest of Twelve everyday. How is that possible?

All I've done is take lives. In the forest, in the Nut, in the Capitol where all those children died because of my design.

I was angry at the Capitol for doing the same thing I ended up doing.

I tried to save Katniss, I truly did. But those few minutes before Snow's execution proved to me that I would never be forgiven, and she would never be the same.

I loved her before the rebellion, and I love her now. It was so irrationally wrong, but I didn't care.

I won't see her again, anyway.

After getting what I need, I take each step upstairs as slowly as possible. There's no need to hurry anymore.

On the last step, I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. A massive weight; something big enough to crush me if it had stayed too long.

I don't have to worry anymore.

When I reach the bedroom, I notice a crumpled piece of paper hidden beneath the unmade sheets. When I flatten it out, I recognize it immediately. The letter I wrote to her.

So now she pities me. It's the only reason why she would read it and not tell me.

Because I'm a coward.

_Coward._

Surely there has to be some dignity in this? To be able to smile and relax and know that Katniss can still live a life she wanted with Peeta?

That she would be happy, with someone who makes her happy?

Someone who isn't the reason why she wakes up screaming her dead sister's name.

I sit on the edge of the bed, squeezing the worn out paper in my clenched fist.

Yes, I think I can sneak out some dignity in that.

I can afford that much.

* * *

_**Katniss**_

* * *

I make my way through the village with my eyes forward, ignoring the same stares I encountered when I arrived. When I reach the train station, an attendee tells me that the next train won't come for a few hours.

I seat myself on a nearby bench, my hands folded in my lap.

I have no idea what I'm doing.

Gale told me more than once that he didn't want me to stay, and each time he did, the lying got worse. He wouldn't just send me off without an explanation; Gale doesn't do that.

But I _couldn't_ stay, even if I _wanted_ to, because Peeta was in Twelve wondering what happened to the both of us.

_So now you're going to leave him again and never tell him?_

I can't tell him; it's selfish. Besides, the point really revolved around whether he wanted me to go, not because I wanted to tell him something that I don't even know is true.

Which begs the question,

_Is it_?

I think about every single day we went into the woods together, where Gale built his snares and the way he held his breath right before every kill. I think about that day in the middle of all the chaos of the rebellion surrounding us, when we held each other and I watched him cry for the first time.

His every detail washes through my head - his warm olive-toned skin, his low voice that never failed to add a mocking remark to everything, his gray eyes that lusted for the fall of all those who destroyed his home, and his beaming smiles that always seemed to be meant for me.

And with each passing minute, a subtle realization dawns over me that maybe I knew all along, that maybe I was too scared to even believe it.

I have to tell him - I owe him that much.

I jump off the cold bench and run.

* * *

_**Gale**_

* * *

I always assumed that only someone strong at heart would avoid this, but perhaps that same person would give into it, because it's the braver thing to do.

Then again, I'm not one to decide whether what I'm doing is brave or not. But I refuse to think of it as giving up.

I can manage one more life taken away.

Just one last time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Note: Yes, the rating has changed yet again, and I apologize. It's officially rated M, and the rating is introduced in this longer (and immensely cheesier) final chapter.**

** I feel like a warning is mandatory, but I also have this huge deal against spoilers, so I think it's safe to say that this chapter contains ****_extremely_**** mature material, so read at your own risk.**

** I know there are a lot of open ends and unanswered questions in this chapter, and honestly, I'd rather it stayed like that. It leaves more things open to the reader's imagination.**

** Also, a reference is made somewhere in the middle to Suzanne Collin's line: "We move as two parts of one being." Just a reminder that it is her property, along with the characters.**

** Thank you (once again!) for your reviews and support. I will most definitely continue writing fics and posting them, thanks to my new found love for this website.**

** Okay, enough talking. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the final chapter of "How to Drown", told in Katniss' POV.**

* * *

I don't even think. My feet take me where I want to go, and soon enough I'm standing in front of a red-brick house by the woods. My breath is shaking and I can't figure out why, but at this point, I really don't care.

I open the door quietly, knowing that Gale might force me to leave before I've even said anything. The living room is empty, but when I reach the kitchen, I see the remains of a glass bottle sprinkled on the floor.

It brings a shaky gasp out of me. Near the puddle of clear liquid are drops of blood.

My feet move again, down the corridor and up the stairs, listening for his voice.

When I reach his bedroom, a familiar sense washes over me.

The last time I stood in front of his door, waiting for him, he nearly lost himself to anger.

I turn the doorknob and step inside.

He's standing by his desk with his hands gripping the edge, and his back to me. He doesn't look up until I speak.

"Gale-"

"I told you not to come back," he accuses, turning around. One of his hands leaves the desk in a clenched fist. "I _told_ you, Catnip."

"I couldn't leave before telling you."

"Telling me _what_?"

I know the consequences. After telling him, I won't be able to go back, and neither will he. Whether that's good or bad, I don't know.

"I love you, Gale."

His eyes lock on mine, gripping onto them so sharply that I can't even blink. He doesn't move at all; nothing in his expression changes one bit. Once the words leave my mouth, everything seems to become a sign that what I've done is a mistake.

"No, you don't," he mutters with a humorless smile.

"What does that mean?"

"You don't _love_ me, Katniss," he says, crossing the room until he's right in front of me. "You say that because you think it's going to be easier on me."

"You don't _believe_ me?" I snap, craning my neck to look up at him.

"I'd be naïve if I did."

"And when I kissed you? You think I didn't mean it?"

"First of all, you shouldn't have even kissed me to begin with."

"Oh, like you shouldn't have kissed me when you were flat out drunk?"

"I was _drunk_."

I hold his face in my hands. "Listen to me. I don't know when it happened; maybe it was the same day you fell for me in the Hob, or maybe it was when I found your designs buried in the woods. But when I did realize, I knew I'd never stop, and I knew it would be worse if I never told you and you never got to know. Ignore it all you want, but it's true."

I know by the look on his face that something's wrong. My eyes question him, but he doesn't answer.

Instead, he takes my hand and releases his clenched fist, letting a single white pill fall into my palm.

I don't know what to make of it at first, but once I remember how I took two of probably thirty-some pills he had this morning, my blood runs cold.

"A life for a life, remember?" He asks softly. "Or in my case, a life for a few hundred lives."

When I still don't move, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to him, as if he knows I'd collapse if he didn't hold me up.

"It's too late to stop me," he whispers in my ear. "I swallowed them dry almost two hours ago."

And I snap.

My hands find their way to his chest and I shove him away, loosening his grip on me. He stumbles and nearly falls on the bed, but I'm not looking. I stagger to his bathroom, yanking open the medicine cabinet for something, anything. I start snatching useless bottles for treating burns and fevers and fling them away with my shaking hands.

There has to be something.

_Please let there be something._

When the entire cabinet is emptied, a sudden rage floods through me and I pound my fists against the door, tears threatening to squeeze out of my eyes. He's behind me again, but before his hands could find their way around me, I turn around and slam him against the wall.

"Don't," I want to scream through my clenched teeth, but all that escapes my lips is a breathless whisper. "Don't say a _word_."

He doesn't listen. "You won't find anything."

"Shut up, shut _up_!" My fists slam against his chest. I'm shaking so hard and the shock coursing through my veins isn't helping at all.

He's right.

It's too late.

I have no control over my body anymore; it's shaking so violently that I almost lose my balance.

_He's dying._

This time, my arms go around him, and I grip onto him as tightly as I can.

"_You are not leaving me!_" I yell through clenched teeth, my voice muffled in his shoulder.

"Listen to me," he murmurs gently. "Catnip, listen."

_No please please please Gale please stop_

"You're going to make it worse like that," he adds, and I can the faintest hint of a smile in his voice.

"You can't leave me," I whisper.

"You make it sound like I'm the bad guy."

_Gale . . ._

After an eternity of standing still, he takes me by the shoulders and gently pulls me away. My nails dig through his shirt and into his skin instinctively.

"You love me?"

I find my voice, still barely a whisper. "I love you."

"Then come with me."

He takes me hand and leads me to his bed. Before letting go, he reaches out to touch my cheek.

"I want to go to sleep with you next to me," Gale begins, his eyes somber and delicate. "Is that okay?"

I don't even think.

I hold his face in my hands and stand on my toes, brushing my lips to his. At the very moment we touch, the threatening tears make an appearance, and I kiss Gale with a desperation that sends a shockwave of hunger through my limbs. I kiss him because I want to imprint the feel of his skin against mine and make it last longer than today, longer than tomorrow, longer than an eternity. I kiss him with every part of me screaming three words over again.

_I love you I love you I love you_

And he does the same.

Somehow in the midst of it all, I end up with my back on the bed and Gale leaning over me. I grab onto him and then we're curled on our sides, two parts of a whole.

"Don't cry," he murmurs against my lips. His fingers brush away the cold tears. "Don't."

_He's going to die._

It only makes me shake harder. I bury myself in his collarbone and he plants tiny kisses on my neck and shoulders. His hands nestle my face, his fingers tracing the bride of my nose, the curve of my lips, my closed eyelids. Each stroke of his hand leaves a painful burning beneath my skin with the horrific thought that I will never feel it again.

When my fingers graze the skin under his shirt, I feel how cold he's become and slip it over his head. My hand rests over his heart, feeling the slow beating under his ice-cold skin. Then my fingers trace the angry scars on his back, still bright red and imprinted into the warm bronze skin of his back.

Then it's over, and he's pulling away from me. His head rests against his pillow and he looks away with a strangled expression. I hold Gale's hands in mine, his fingers cold and trembling. I hear his slow, deep breaths, relief washing over me every time I see his chest rise and fall.

The light gray eyes find their way back to mine. "You want an explanation?"

I shake my head. I'm afraid of what he might say. "I don't need one."

"Someone should know," he insists. "I'd rather it be you."

So I listen. And Gale tells me of his first months after the rebellion. He tells me how he tried to forget and move on and accept that the lives that had been lost won't come back by his grief. He tells me how he passed by the broken land of the Nut every day, and how each time he did, the guilt worsened.

He tells me of all the hours he spent down on his knees, holding his head and shutting out the thought of me in Twelve. And after he got back up, he would hate himself for being pathetic and weak.

Hours pass and soon his words turn into murmurs, and his murmurs turn into whispers. He's still smiling delicately, but I'm certain it's only for my sake.

"I tried to forget you," he tells me. "Then again it's a bit hard to forget the symbol of the rebellion."

"You're telling me," I sigh.

I feel his shivering fingertips brush against my cheek, and he takes a shaky breath. "Would it be too ironic if I said this is a good way to die?"

He's joking. Gale is _literally_ on his deathbed and he's trying to make me feel better.

"It's not all that funny," I mutter.

"Well, I'm laughing."

He could hardly breathe.

Suddenly, he sucks in a desperate breath and squeezes his eyes shut. I sit up immediately, cradling his head in my arms, wiping his brown hair away from his unusually sweaty forehead.

"I thought it'd be slower," he muses, opening his eyes after a while. "For them to kick in, I mean."

I don't answer him. I don't know how, but after watching me for some time, he reads my face.

"You think I'm wrong."

"Do you suppose I'm okay with this?" I sputter.

"Just don't be upset, Catnip. Not now."

I do my best, but I was never good at hiding my frowns.

"Go on," he nods to the pillow beside him. "Lie down. I feel like a child with you staring down at me."

"A child," I scoff, but do as he says.

After watching me for a while, he murmurs something to me.

"I've never been more sorry in my life than when I made those bombs, Catnip."

"You didn't kill them."

"I could've-"

"You _didn't_. You didn't pull the trigger, you just made a bullet that could've easily been thrown away if it weren't for Coin."

"Crappy bullet," he adds sourly.

I reach out to hold his hand. It's cold now, implausibly cold. The bottoms of his fingernails are turning a horrible shade of purple and his veins strain out from underneath his frozen skin.

"Why would you do it?" I ask him.

He doesn't look me in the eye when he answers. "I tried so hard to get better after the rebellion. I tried every single day, but it didn't work."

"So you're giving up?" I whisper.

"I'm repaying my debt."

"To what?"

"I don't think it matters much anymore."

"It matters to me."

"And if I tell you, you'll try to prove me wrong."

"You _are_ wrong."

"You know what you need?" Gale smiles. "You need to be a little more rebellious."

"I've had more than enough of that."

"It turned out all right for you."

"No," I shake my head. "I'm going to lose you."

"Well now you're being melodramatic."

"This situation calls for some melodrama."

He chuckles, but really he just exhales sharply and smiles. We lock our gray eyes on each other, and it's one of those moments where I wish it could last forever.

But then his eyelids begin to droop and I'm grabbing for his hand, holding on to him like it will bring him back.

"Gale," I hold my breath. "Gale, look at me."

"I'm here, don't worry," he tries to say, but his lips barely move and his gaze begins to falter.

"Open your eyes," I beg him.

"Katniss, I'm tired."

"Stay awake for a while."

Gale looks at me with as much strength as he can bear. It shakes me to the core to see him so weak so suddenly; he was never the one to give in.

I hold his face in my shaking hands, pressing my lips against the spot between his eyes. "Just a little longer."

"Katniss."

I don't want to look at his eyes anymore, because I know what they're going to say.

_I'm going to sleep now_

When I pull back, I rest a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat slower and slower.

"Remember when I said that I was like the man in The Hanging Tree?" he slurs. "Still waiting for an answer?"

"I remember."

His lips barely move when he tells me, "Maybe I don't need an answer after all."

I lean into him, my cheek against his and my lips against his ear. "You do," I speak softly, "and the answer is yes."

"Catnip?" I rest my head back against the pillow and look up at him, waiting.

"I love you."

After a while, I whisper back, "I love you."

Even though he hardly moves a muscle, I can see him smiling. A real smile, the kind I always saw after a long day of hunting, or a victory trade at the Hob, or when he spoke to Prim when she was little. I can see him telling me that it's okay, don't be scared, I'm still here. I can see him watching me with that look in his eyes, one that says _I can't believe you're mine_. His hand slowly slips from my fingers, but all I can see is Gale, whose smile doesn't spread on his lips or flicker in his eyes, but yet it is there and it is beautiful. He is so beautiful.

_Goodnight, sweet dreams, you'll wake up somewhere better and you'll be okay, I promise_

_ I love you, I love you, I love you_

And so he left.

* * *

_Deep in the meadow, hidden far away_

_A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray, forget your woes and let your troubles lay_

_And when it's morning again, they'll wash away_

When I step closer to it, the tears finally fall.

I drop to my knees.

Hands buried in the soil.

And I sing.

_Here it's safe, here it's warm_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

_Here is the place where I love you _

It doesn't sound the same.

Maybe because no one's listening.

* * *

Perhaps I won't ever understand the debt Gale had to pay, but what I do understand is that when he did, it freed him of everything that had ever haunted him. It carried away a burden and let him slip into sleep peacefully, so that his last moments were happy ones.

These and other thoughts twist and turn inside my head, but I don't really comprehend them. They are just there, distracting me from the urge to scream until my throat becomes raw and bloody.

I told Peeta everything, and he understood. He said he'd give me time.

I don't believe him.

People ask me questions, strange men with plastic hats and metal badges. They ask me what Gale had said to me the day he died. I tell them a lie.

Gale wanted me to know why he did what he did because I was the only one who would understand. I was the only one who felt the same of guilt that tore him to pieces.

What does that say of me?

The Hunger Games, the war, the rebellion. They broke us, shattered us and ripped away everything we knew. Maybe it was for the best in the end. But for who, really? Certainly not us, after the scars we grew to save a country that had lost almost any hope of living.

Maybe Gale's scars were too great to bare. Even if he never stepped into the arena, he still watched us prepare for death. He still watched _me_ prepare for death.

How horrible would it feel to see someone you love being forced to dance with the devil? And there was nothing you could do?

How horrible would it feel to know that you ended up doing the same?

But when he passed, all the troubles on his shoulders had lifted. He was finally happy, because he had done everything he could. He finished what he started.

And he sank into sleep as weightlessly as drowning.


End file.
